Tag Archives: fear

Thursday morning, I sat next to my coworker Tammy at a long table in a bland conference room at the Great Wolf Lodge in Wisconsin Dells. It was the start of day 2 of a grueling grantee meeting hosted by the State. State with a capital S. Tammy started to speak.

“You know… I feel like I should say. Actually…” and she stopped abruptly, turning toward me. “No, this is important, this requires eye contact.”

I turned toward her. She started to speak again. “I feel I need to say…” and it was my turn to stop her.

“Hang on,” I said. “This is going to need more than just eye contact.” And I folded my hands over the top of hers.

And we giggled like school girls until the presenter got things going. In Tammy’s words, the meeting had been a “fresh hell” and after several good and several bad trips, this had been our friendship forging battle — Tammy and I are travel buddies, through and through.

On Monday, I brought Tammy four travel sized bottles of lotion. She brought me three quarts of homegrown raspberries for pi(es). I absolutely adore Tammy…

Yet, a year ago I could not have imagined this closeness. Not that I had any real evidence to the contrary. Only imaginary. It’s sad that I let that stop me from road tripping for as long as I did. Let me explain…

Long before I started my new job in the Center for Community Outreach I was already working with my newly beloved crew. Believe it or not, a big part of community engagement involves actually going out into the communities. In cars. Even when the community is kind of far away.

So naturally, for the first year or so of all this traveling, I drove myself. Audiobook all the way. Completely on my own dime. Because… what on God’s green earth was I going to be able to talk about with strangers on a car trip for hours on end??? Nothing. That’s what. So I couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t, anyway.

The emails always came out about carpooling and ridesharing, time tables, and rental reservations, but I never jumped in the pool. I just couldn’t take the plunge. The thought alone made me uncomfortable and panicky. So I begged off, out, or around in whatever way I could. Always some reason or another.

But then came last summer and our first ever “Roadshow” — just me and Sheila making visits to all of our HOPE Consortium partners scattered across five counties and three tribes in Wisconsin’s Northwoods. There was no out. And I was nervous.

I tried to think up topics. What would this brilliant, experienced addictions nurse and director of numerous programs want to talk about with her awkward, sweaty driver? I couldn’t even think straight. I sweat some more. Eyes on the road. Hands at 10 and 2.

And because anxiety is pretty much always the same – pointless – our summer 2016 HOPE Consortium Roadshow was a BLAST. Sheila is incredible and I quickly grew to look forward to our long conversations in the car. It was disappointing when we had to go north up Highway 13 and I had to spend the first 30 minutes alone, stopping to pick Sheila up only once I got to Abbotsford.

After a few trips with Sheila, I thought maybe I’d give it a shot with the rest of the crew on the way north for HOPE Consortium Steering Committee meetings. Nerves struck, of course, before the big day — and each time someone different and relatively unfamiliar was going to be in the car — but each time, my anxiety was all for naught. Every trip has been a great time, a chance to get to know some amazing women just a little bit better.

Sheila was first; she is my mother earth and spirit animal. Then came Kayleigh, Leila, Tammy, Becky, and JoAnna. We’re basically a club of enthusiastic chicken eaters and one vegetarian (seriously – if you ever get the chance to have Reuland’s chicken in Minocqua, you’ll want in the club too). Never a dull moment, never a boring trip. I’ve actually even almost shaken the nerves at this point. Tammy and I went to and from Minneapolis a few weeks ago and had our beautiful (and ridiculous) heart-to-heart in the Dells just last week. Leila and I have been cruising all around the state. Every time is a little bit more awesome.

Shortly before Christmas, Becky and I headed up to Minocqua together – she is brilliant AND drives rather efficiently, it’s lovely to ride with her!

I suck in big social situations — small talk is so hard for me. Weather, Wisconsin, Wisconsin weather… it’s awkward and uncomfortable. But something about the car makes you instantly deeper. Maybe it’s the movement, lack of direct eye contact, road noise. Whatever it is, it lets you go deeper faster, be more genuine, and those are my favorite kinds of conversation. We talk about our families and our relationships. Our work and the communities we serve. We share stories, make jokes, laugh, and eat good food. The car, the long trips, the early starts, and coordinated gas stops and key drops when we get home – it helps us bond. We get more personal and it makes work really, really good.

We especially love the food. the rhino crunch from Lola’s Luncbox in Phillips is probably the best thing of all… besides Reuland’s chicken, as noted above 🙂

When I think back to a year ago and my fear of those long trips, I really feel like I should have known better. I work with amazing women. And everywhere we go together — every county, every tribe, there are more amazing women doing good work. (And men too, but honestly – it’s probably 80% women in this line of work.) I’m always scared, but I’m always wrong. And I’d like to really learn that lesson this time.

Last Thursday, after Tammy’s and my big moment… and four more hours of the lamest meeting on earth, we joined the boss lady for lunch before heading home in our monster truck (because you never know what you’re going to get when you rent and this time, we had quite the beasty, which is extra funny when tiny Tammy is behind the wheel). We were having a great time and I confessed, over Noodles (with a capital N), how nervous I’d been about carpooling for those first couple years. Ronda gaped at me… and Tammy: “Even ME?!” Yes, I was scared… even of Tammy, the newest love of my life. And I’ve still never ridden with Ronda, the best boss on earth.

But I’ll keep riding with Tammy. Someday I’ll ride with Ronda. And I won’t ever turn away from the opportunity to carpool again — not in this line of work. There’s too much to learn and to share and so many miles of road on which to do it.

I answered the question by sharing my story, by putting my words out there, and engaging (with the internet) in an honest and authentic way.

It’s been stilted lately, though, this little blog-o-mine. And I’ve struggled to figure out why.

Last week, I enjoyed my first two days at Leadership Marshfield, a training program put on through the Marshfield Area Chamber of Commerce and Industry (MACCI) focused on enhancing the ability of potential community leaders to function effectively. It was an amazing experience and I’m really excited to continue with the program over the next 7 months… but it’s already had an impact.

On the second day of the two day retreat, we were instructed to prepare to share our personal leadership hero(es) with the group… with a prop. Naturally, on my way home from day one, I stopped at the (brand spanking new and beautiful) Everett Roehl Marshfield Public Library to check out a copy of Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In. (Don’t get me wrong, I own it, of course… but a Kindle just doesn’t make a terribly effective prop, in my opinion.) It was actually on the cart behind the circulation desk to be reshelved, which made my heart happy knowing someone else had recently had their hands on it, and I brought it with me the next day.

Still my favorite — find it on Amazon here or check out your local public library!

The next morning, I stood up in front of the group and talked about my two leadership heroes:

(1) Sheryl Sandberg, COO of Facebook and author of Lean In, who changed my entire perspective about what it really means to engage in my life, my workplace, and my community. She taught me not to be ashamed or afraid of what and who I am, to value myself for my talents and my passions, and to move forward, with gusto, whenever I’m able.

(2) Ronda Kopelke, Director of the Marshfield Clinic Center for Community Outreach, who showed me what an amazing manager and leader should look like, up close and in practice. She continues to teach me (literally daily) what it means to really care about the people around you and to help them understand that you do. She’s also shown me how to be solution-oriented and engage with people in a positive, respectful, relationship-focused manner.

I sat back down, and then Shelley from Roehl popped up (sharing at Leadership Marshfield is popcorn-style… mmmmm… popcorn) and was mad/glad that I stole her thunder/had the same leadership role model as her. Again, my heart, so glad!

I thought a lot about Sheryl Sandberg that day, chatted with Shelley about her and about Lean In at the ROPES course (yes, I did the mother effing high ropes!! impressed? I am! go me!) and thought about what it was that reading that book had done for me and how it had changed my trajectory in the first place.

Sheryl Sandberg was the one who had asked me (and the millions and millions of other readers of Lean In) that question that started it all: what would you do if you weren’t afraid?

And I did those things. A lot of them. The blog three years ago. The ROPES course three days ago.

But I had never thought about the converse question:

What does it look like when you’re living in fear?

I know the answer now. Not on purpose. Not because I want to. But I look back on the last year and I can see, so clearly, what it looks like when I am afraid and I choose to live there.

I run. Literally, metaphorically. All of the above. I ran from my life and from everything that hurt and was scary. I ran and ran and ran. A marathon. Until I broke my foot (not literally, I just pulled a ligament, but it hurts like a b, so there’s that). I ate my way through Festival Foods to run from feelings and stopped vacuuming my floors. I ran from real life. I said yes to everything and anything at work to run from free time and I have ensured that I’ve had none over these past several months. No time to think or dwell, only run. From one assignment to the next. One workout to the next. One bag of chips (or box of candy, carton of ice cream, etc) to the next.

Yeah, I ate a lot… but I ran a lot too. So let’s let the photo be of that at this point 😉

I even ran from writing and sharing and speaking and connecting. So much of me was just so tender and everything and anything could be salt in the wound without warning.

I have been afraid.

Of what, though, really? Grief after a miscarriage is one thing, but fear? I mean, fear that it would happen again would be rational… but you have to get pregnant first for that to be a possibility… getting pregnant is even less my strong suit than staying pregnant, so what then?

The what, I have to assume, is failure. That infertility wins and this is it. And “it” is failure. A life of settling because I can’t do the thing I want to do. That I felt so strongly I was supposed to do. Meant to do even. Family is the next step — love, (schoooooool), marriage… baby carriage. Even my childhood rhymes said so!

It hurts to fail. And I can do physical pain, but emotional? Nope. I hate it. It feels bad to be jealous, too. And I felt like I had replaced my rose-colored glasses with green ones, everywhere I looked ultrasounds and bumps and even literal baby carriages that weren’t mine. Might very well never be. I don’t like those feelings. I don’t like to fail. So I ran, cowered, stopped vacuuming.

This September, the anniversary of all the bad stuff came and went. The missing heartbeat on September 11th. The surgery on the 16th. The black days immediately after when I felt like I couldn’t breath… and didn’t want to. A year later, I’m still here. Still moving. And slowly recognizing a haze of fear. Recognition.

I take you back to the scene in Love Actually when Mark confesses his completely unrequited love to Juliet (yes, I’ve literally already said this) and then walks away, saying to himself, “Enough. Enough now.” It’s like that. Just like that.

Enough now.

Time to move on. To stop being afraid. Or, at the very least, to stop running from it. To face fear head on. Like Brene Brown and FDR’s man in the arena (highly recommend Brene Brown’s Daring Greatly). But also like Shana Niequist in Present Over Perfect (my newest and truest literary love affair) — sitting with it, even when it’s uncomfortable. Letting myself feel it and living my life anyway.

We have a lot of moments in life that are before and after type moments. Things that define us. But sometimes the moment is longer than a moment. Sometimes the moment is more like a year. For me, it was a year of fear. A year spent running, but getting nowhere. Except back to life. And that’s ok.

I’ve been at such a loss for words. (You: But you always have words, way too many words…) I know, I know. The words are in my head… but they won’t move to my fingers and I can’t get them on the page. Blogging feels impossible. Because what do you write about when you just wrote the biggestthing you’ve ever written? Where do you even start?

And, more importantly, what if you have to take it back?

I don’t, thankfully. But I am so scared that I will. And that makes me scared to say anything at all. Lame. My husband is rather fond of saying, “like water off a duck’s back, babes…” He thinks it’s somehow not worth worrying about something you cannot control. Pppsshhh. I am so not a duck.

Yesterday, I came across a lovely description of my weirdness courtesy of Anne Lamott (living proof that The Hard can make you so so Good):

“My six-year-old associate, who sleeps down the hall about thirty feet away with both our doors wide open, wakes up on many mornings and predicts, ‘This might be the best day ever!’

Then, in the dead of night, a tiny voice calls out to me, ‘Nana, will you ever get sick or die?’ Then he cries at the very thought. He terrorizes himself.

I think this says it all.

If you are alive, conscious, and sensitive, which is to say, human, you’re going to have incredible joy and terror this side of eternity. It’s Life 101, life on life’s terms, not on ours, all these things – fear, joy, grace, mess, isolation, communion, all mixed up together.

The only person who has ever said it better? Why, Bayside High’s own Jessie Spano of course — you know the very special episode. When poor, over-committed Jessie starts taking caffeine pills just to keep up with it all.

“I’m so excited! I’m so excited!! I’m so… scared!”

That is exactly it. I’m so dang excited I can barely stand it. But I’m SO SCARED. And as such, I’m trying way too hard to temper my excitement… just in cases (not a typo, watch Love Actually)… it’s no good.

Honestly, it’s no way to live. Yes, the bad, the worst, the unimaginable can happen. It has been happening for over three years. Month after month of disappointment, bad news, procedures and pills and injections without success. But in this moment, the good, the best, the unimaginable in a completely different way has happened. We’re pregnant. Pregnant!! And right now, we have a baby on the way. Incredible joy. Terror can always show up. But it’s not here now and worrying about it, collapsing into my real world Zack Morris, doesn’t help.

Fortunately, I ran back into the house on my way to work last Friday morning to puke up my breakfast. I had chalked everything else up to the progesterone injections (seriously guys, my backside is like swiss cheese — injections every day until 9/23) or elaborate psychosomatic responses to knowing/thinking I was pregnant (my brain can be such a powerful little beast), but you can’t just imagine puking. That’s real! I’d been feeling so good that I’d even peed on another stupid stick (positive!) last Monday. Kind of pathetic.

It’s just… the FEAR. I can’t escape it! I honestly don’t know how and I feel like I’m skipping from rock to rock across a 40 week wide river at the moment, desperately hoping I make it to the other side. Always looking ahead to the next rock, barely believing I made it across the last. Blood HCG to peeing on a stick to puking in a toilet bowl and ultrasound on Thursday. At some point I’ll have to stop, or I really will end up like poor, stressed out Jessie Spano. I’m just no good at being a duck.

It’s funny because I thought that when the IVF was over, we’d have an answer and I’d feel resolved in some way. But I don’t. Not at all. Excited and happy, of course, but definitely not resolved. And what I probably need most of all is to circle back to that lovely prayer of relinquishment — the one that, with both hope and gratitude, accepts what is to be. Or, as Hagrid says, “What’s comin’ will come, an’ we’ll meet it when it does.” (I just finished The Goblet of Fire last week. Oh my goodness. Onto the Order of the Phoenix — no fake book interlude this time, just straight through the magical goodness.)

Because why shouldn’t Harry Potter be part of my spiritual solution? (Which reminds me to say that dang, Hermione’s hair is so much better in the books than in the movies. I mean, lots of love to the brilliant Emma Watson, but her hair really should have been a lot bushier in the movies, don’t you think? Perhaps I’ll spend some time worrying about that instead for a bit.)

Throughout the book, Sandberg asks her readers to “lean in” and actually do the things that they would do if they weren’t afraid. My thing, my dream: start a blog! (Should I be dreaming bigger? Maybe… this is just a start.)

Even the mere thought of putting myself out there makes my stomach churn and my second track (the negative, ever present, stream of thoughts that constantly plays through my head) say things like: “isn’t it a bit narcissistic to write about your own life? who cares what you have to say?! no one is even going to read it!” (Then my third tracks says: “and you’re going to put that on your blog? You sound like a paranoid schizophrenic!” But that’s a whole other series…)

So, I am working very hard to forget that track, to be done with the second guessing and the negative nelly-ness, and to lean in and do it anyway. (Oooo… lean in italicized, that’s clever, I like it.) To silence that second track: who else would I write about besides myself? Isn’t it a bit narcissistic, really, to think I could write about anyone else? And if no one else wants to read it, that’s fine, at the very least, my mom is obligated. (Hi, mom! It’s cool if you just catch up before I visit.) At any rate… This is what I would do if I weren’t afraid. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still afraid (omg, do you hate me?!), but I’m also leaning in and leaning past that fear and doing this thing… this thing I really want to do. Woot woot!

Right, so the blog does have a point besides just being a thing I really, really want to do.

This is a blog about looking for the bigger picture, the blessings in disguise, and the long-awaited silver linings. The name “Under the Tapestry” is based on a really great analogy for just that… the idea that we’re looking up at the messy underside and the tangled threads of a tapestry that, from the other side, is really rather nice. More on that to come, of course– tomorrow, I present the idea in the form of a poem, a picture, and as a pseudo-quantum mechanical theory. You know, for fun 😉 See you then!

"Rachel V. Stankowski considered herself, among other things, a writer. Primarily due to the positive stigmas that accompanied the label, but also because it seemed to excuse some of her more major eccentricities, vanity included."
My brother, also a writer, wrote that about a fictional character. It might have been about me. So I stole it. He's good; maybe I can be too.